


We'll Build A Home

by ronandhermy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future, Ian and Mickey deiced to turn an old building they won in a bet into a safe space for GLBTA youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Build A Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a headcanon someone submitted to Angela on tumblr.

_A couple of 2x4’s, a bucket of nails, maybe some paint if McCrawery gave ‘em a deal again, and some unpaid labor, and they might just be able to fix this place up,_ Mickey mused to himself as he walked through a decrepit building. It wasn’t the one he and Ian had taken refuge in so many years ago, but it was similar it that it was made of brick, abandoned, and looked like an urban ruin.

Maybe it would have made a good movie set for one of those post-apocalyptic films that Ian liked to watch so much recently. But that’s about all it was good for in between the stripped wiring, the complete lack of glass in the windows, the crumbling brick and the rusty pipes. It really should have been condemned a long time ago, but no one ever said the city had their shit together when it came to the poorer side of the tracks. 

He and Ian actually owned it. Won it in a poker game about a year and a half back. It was probably the best game of poker that guy ever lost since he unloaded this piece of property shit. Ian had rolled his eyes and laughed when he actually saw the place, and Mickey had sworn a blue streak. They’d both decided to let it sit until they could figure out what to do with it. 

The idea had come to Ian one night as they’d been watching some humanitarian special that soothed his bleeding heart, and Mickey had just been enjoying cuddling with his boyfriend after a long ass week at work. Then Ian had to start talking. Normally Mickey liked it when Ian talked, he had good voice and he normally didn’t talk bullshit like so many others, but there were times when Mickey honestly doubted Ian’s sanity. 

Because Ian was suggesting that now, now that they were nearing thirty, they should start thinking of their legacy and crap like that. And when Ian started talking like that Mickey knew, just fucking knew, that he was going to be dragged into some damn project that he didn’t really want to do but would do anyway because Ian fucking Gallagher. 

So Ian was talking and he started going on about how there needed to be safe space for gay youths, and that wouldn’t it be great if there was a place where young people could go if they weren’t safe at home, and hey, don’t we own a large building that we could fix up and make into a safe space. 

That conversation had happened about six months ago and now Mickey was walking through the damn building, making plans for making the place safe and structurally sound, as well as figuring out how they were going to finance this whole thing. What it really came down to, Mickey concluded, was getting the people who were going to be using this place to help build it. 

They couldn’t exactly put up posters in the local schools that said “Hey shit packers and rug munchers, want to come help build a place that you can hide out instead of getting the shit kicked out of you?” But word can get around in the right circles if one knew what to say. Plus, the neighborhood knew Ian and Mickey. Some people, always new to the area, tried to start something and got shut down pretty quick. But it was almost inevitable that the young and confused, or young and abused, would find themselves around Ian and Mickey. 

Ian always seemed to attract the helpless dreamers looking for guidance and, for some reason, Mickey had a gaggle of young ones following him on a semi-regular basis. Most of the group that followed him around seemed to be primarily female and had the giggles. It was like having several younger sisters all of a sudden, or a gaggle of nieces, but whatever the case Mickey didn’t mind them. When he had the time he would teach them how to fight. No one hanging around with a Milkovich was gonna lose a fight. Or, if they did, they would damn well do some damage first. 

Mickey got the labor he needed and they agreed to be paid in drinks and sandwiches and the future of a place where they could rest without fearing a fag bash from their own families. Next to none of these kids were out, and Mickey got it, he really fucking did. So it was easy for people to believe it was just another summer project that a gaggle of kids had been roped into through one way or another. Even Yeggy stopped by to help on occasion, always drifting around to finish up the last odds and ends of random projects, his quiet nature fitting in to the noise of so many of the kids who finally had a place to really talk. 

The kids were a strange mix, but it was understandable that they would flock to a place where they didn't have to pretend to be something they weren't. No one would believe that Dwight Jackson, that junior linebacker with a mean punch, was more than happy to hold hands with a boy if he was given the chance. Or that his cheerleader “girlfriend”, Mariana Little, was far more interested in Dwight’s sister than in him. But there were other kids, people who were awkward and hurt, who came as well. They were the ones Mickey worked with the most. 

There were a couple of skinny guys who hid under baggy clothes, or layers even in the summer, who were either unbelievably angry or unbelievably quiet. Some of them were out to prove that they could handle this type of work, that just because they sucked dick they could still pound the shit out of a plank of wood. Mickey set them to task because he knew they’d get the job done or die trying. If they wanted to prove something they could, but it became understood that they didn't have to prove anything. Not here anyway. 

The quiet ones were the ones that worried Mickey the most, although he never would admit it. The ones that seemed a bit like waifs who were drifting, looking for any form of solid ground. Mickey would get them to work, and they’d do it, but they rarely raised their voices, let alone their eyes, to him. It worried him but in a way he understood. These kids were surviving and maybe, one day, if they could just make it out, they might have a chance to build themselves up instead of building bunk beds. 

Debbie Gallagher was the one to raise them enough money to buy plexiglass windows, fix the pipes and get all those other odds and ends. She had recently graduated from college, Summa Cum Laude, and she had done a huge fundraiser that guilted every single person into donating money for the homeless gay youth of the city. She’d even managed to get an official government grant. They were going to have to name something after her, Mickey just knew it. Maybe the garden. 

By the end of the summer the place was actually in pretty decent shape. It was a multi-storied brick building that had shiny new windows, bunks beds in the upstairs levels, a common room with an old television, and some bathrooms with showers, they even had a laundry room. The place had been freshly painted, with the kids adding their own touch here and there, like a bright yellow hand-print or, in one impressive case, a line drawing of a dragon breathing fire onto the high school. Mickey had liked that piece of work on pure principle. 

The outside had a courtyard garden with a mix of vegetation that was summer friendly and winter resilient, with benches for the kids to sit on and smoke. It was a good place. Friendly. Inviting even. Ian, of course, handled all the rules and protocols and such. Since they were a private thing they, thankfully, didn’t have to go through state channels for most of their shit. They were far too small of potatoes for the state to go after anyway. 

But Ian had a whole system for kids signing in and out, who was bunking where, and how many nights. If it became a serious concern then Ian had all sorts of protocols for when and how to contact CPS or the police if there was one too many bruises. He had all sorts of resources lined up for kids who’d been assaulted, both physically and sexually, that were there if the kids needed them. And he always had a shit ton of condoms available for anyone who needed or wanted them. Plus, Ian was usually around to talk at some point in the day. 

All of the was sort of in the background however, the boning to this place, but it wasn’t what people saw. It wasn’t what people felt. Kids were able to hang out here without being attacked for loving who they loved. A boy could hold a boy’s hand here and not fear getting his skull cracked open, or a girl could kiss another girl and not have to deal with “it’s just a phase talk.” There were rough patches of course, everything in this part of town was a bit rough, but it was working and it was good. Ian and Mickey would fight anyone, tooth and nail, who tried to take this place from them. 

Because to the kids it was more than a building they’d helped create. It was sometimes the only place they could go to lay their heads for the night. It was a place where two older guys who happened to be in love decided that if they’d had a place like this when they were growing up, maybe things wouldn't have been as bad. It was a haven, an oasis in a desert of ignorance, and it was something the kids were as fiercely protective of as any good Gallagher or decent Milkovich. 

Because it was better than home. It was safe. And for the first time in years for many of those kids, they breathed easy, a burden lifted off their chests. Their fears were halted outside those walls, and the negative forces within their lives were firmly shown a Do Not Enter sign. They may not be able to do much, not now, but they would do all that they could to protect this place they'd helped build. 

_Because for the first time in a long time, they were safe._


End file.
